


Shake It Till You See It

by Charliesmusings



Series: Fashionista, How Do You Look? [5]
Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: AU, And none of them actually match the years I said in this but it's fine, Angst, College Skrael was a sap, Enemies to Lovers, Fashion AU, Hurt No Comfort, Lyric fic, Nari is mentioned, Other, Prequel to the AU, Rivals to Lovers, So many song lyrics, Songfic, This Is Fine, Time Is Fake, no newts were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charliesmusings/pseuds/Charliesmusings
Summary: Skrael finds some old memories.
Relationships: Bellroc/Skrael (Tales of Arcadia)
Series: Fashionista, How Do You Look? [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066058
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Shake It Till You See It

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the tags are right, none of the lyrics Skrael uses actually align with the dates on the polaroids; sorry about that! I hope it doesn't take away from the emotion nonetheless! Also, this is my first time trying to use pictures in a fic for AO3 so hopefully the formatting ends up working! If you can't see the pictures, the lyrics on them are included in the fic text itself too, so hopefully that helps paint the scene if the photos don't load!

It was all Sticky’s fault.

True to his name, the little bugger had climbed his way right up the side of his enclosure while Skrael had the lid off for feeding, and by the time he’d caught wind of his youngest newt’s movement, Sticky had already hauled himself up and over, and was making his way across Skrael’s bedroom wall.

Skrael, who swore and slipped the mesh back over the tank, going immediately to follow after the escapee.

Sticky, on the other hand, was enjoying his freedom as if he’d discovered the secret to nirvana itself, as he darted all over the expansive real estate of a penthouse wall, immediately realizing that Skrael had a harder time stopping him if he climbed to a height which Skrael, cursing his genetics as he was oft wont to do, was too short to reach.

Skrael would almost consider the newt clever for it, if he wasn’t actively dragging a chair up against his wardrobe at that moment because of it.

As soon as he was level with Sticky once more, catching him was less of a challenge. See, while Sticky was celebrating his successful jailbreak, Skrael was well aware of the newt’s ultimate hubris, and had swiped some frozen bloodworms onto a finger; a nice-sized portion, too—impossible to resist.

Sticky had applied the breaks so quickly that Skrael could practically hear the comical squeal of rubber tires, as the newt turned tail rapidly back toward the nearest food source—right into Skrael’s awaiting, gentle hands.

The newt struggled for a moment, causing Skrael to have to adjust his hold—he was quite a slippery thing for someone named _Sticky_ —and while he was mindful of the little guy, Skrael was far less mindful of his elbow.

A cardboard box crashed to his floor with a loud thump, sending dust spiraling upward with the force of its descent. Skrael held his breath and immediately stepped down from the chair, to avoid inhaling it, and risking a sneeze, which would grant his little delinquent a second chance at Free Bird’ing it out of his owner’s grasp—and Skrael wasn’t entirely sure the same capture method would work twice, so Sticky’s second escape was not an option. As such, Skrael ignored the box for now, in favor of returning Sticky to his rightful place—though with the expression in the newt’s eyes, one would think Skrael were placing him into solitary confinement; as if Skrael hadn’t bought the largest reasonable tank size for his three beloved fire-bellies, as soon as they’d outgrown their first one.

As he slid the mesh closed once more, he settled for opening its smaller hatch this time; he could only get one hand in to feed, but it would ensure Sticky couldn’t repeat his crime—nor that he could inspire his brothers to do the same.

After all of his newts were properly fed— _and secured_ —Skrael could finally evaluate the mess the chaos had caused.

It had been a lidded cardboard box, and held what seemed to be mostly paper materials—notebooks, sketchbooks—

Oh.

Huh.

And photographs.

Skrael’s brow furrowed as he glanced them over. Most of them were from his first few shows; way back when he’d just been starting out, some years ago. He gave a soft smile as he glanced them over, though he had to shove a small wince down upon seeing himself in some of them. He looked so—

His hair had still been growing out. He wasn’t even sure he’d brushed it for that show; he’d been so stressed. It was in the early days of his… solo career, and it was his first real collection exhibition. He was beaming, and it was almost convincing even to himself. But he remembered plenty well how _empty_ that first one had felt, with the absence of the two people he’d sworn that he’d never do exactly was he was doing there, without.

He dropped the photo back into the righted box, frowning.

That was enough of that.

He collected the last few photographs, and as he was about to toss them all in without a second glance, precisely five small rectangles slipped from his hold; they’d been shuffled in between the larger pictures, so he’d entirely missed them at first.

He sighed, put away the others, and with a roll of his eyes, gathered up these five stragglers, irritated at the trouble he’d had to go to—once more, all Sticky’s fault—and very nearly hurled them into the box to be forgotten, when, upon turning the first over, he froze.

 _What is this doing still in here?_ He thought, thoroughly ruffled.

The picture was a polaroid, likely taken by Nari, as he and Bellroc were in silhouette, hurling graduation caps into the sunlight.

The picture itself struck him, yes. But it was the caption that did the most damage.

 _God,_ he’d been so foolish and sentimental back then.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191602632@N07/50784863392/in/dateposted-public/)

He remembered writing it.

_What if we said goodbye to safe and sound?_

Starting a fashion label was no small danger; their risk had been enormous. But they’d felt invincible back then; nothing in the world could have knocked them over. At least. That’s what they’d thought. Back then.

_Skrael laughed airily as he emblazoned the picture with its words. The words that tugged on his chest, that smelled of ozone and dreams. The high of catching that graduation cap in both hands—the thrill of turning it over to see that he’d caught theirs, instead—the breathless giggles they’d burst into as they’d traded back._

_The grass was warm in the setting sun, and the world itself looked like it was dipped in gold. Everything was perfect._

_Three heads laid next to each other on the ground, and none of them paid mind to the dirt that was smearing on their paper-thin, itchy graduation robes. Their diplomas had been discarded with Nari’s camera bag a few feet away, and though little mattered more than the achievement they’d seized that day, it rather fell short, compared to the sheer elation of what laid ahead._

_what if…?  
speeding through red lights into paradise  
because we’ve no time for getting old  
mortal body, timeless souls  
cross your fingers, here we go_

Skrael scoffed at the memory, chalking it up to blind naiveté, and turned over the next picture. As long as he was here, he supposed, he may as well do like Dorothy, and follow the yellow brick road all the way down.

His demeanor shifted at the next picture, though, much to his chagrin.

It was earlier than graduation— the summer of their senior year. The year that none of them had gone home, for the first time venturing into a sublease; for the first time tasting what was to come.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191602632@N07/50784863277/in/dateposted-public/)

The sparklers gave evidence to it having been taken on the fourth.

He’d lit his off theirs, and their fingers had brushed.

 _I’m a spark, and you’re a BOOM._ He’d written later, recalling the fireworks in his own chest right at that moment, and the way that none of the others they saw they night felt nearly as bright or as colorful as what had bloomed in his heart.

The stupid, foolish, schoolboy-playground type of crush.

_(what was he supposed to do?)_

The memory burned as it slipped into the box.

He flicked through the next few quickly, trying not to pay them mind—

and failed miserably at it.

Despite himself, damn it all, he reached out, for every picture, every memory, unable to resist the will-o-wisp pull they had on his mind.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191602632@N07/50784863452/in/dateposted-public/)

Just before graduation, he noted. He wasn’t sure when that stupid crush had gotten to its crux, but the way they planned their future together—platonic or not—and the way that they’d begun to fill in the ends of his sentences… the way that he could do it back. The way that they said things sometimes, that made him wonder—the way that he wished he could ask if he did the same to them. The way they looked when they didn’t think he was watching—the way their lips moved just so, as they read—the way they got a small dimple at the corner of their mouth when they were thinking—the way he thought that maybe, just maybe, they leaned in when they were alone together, and seemed to watch his lips as he spoke. How was all of that supposed to leave him unscathed?

_He snapped the photo before they could notice he’d even aimed the camera._

Because it _had_ all won. It had all won out over him, over the knowledge that the crush could only end badly, because the way it all felt—the time he spent staring at this photo—

_He couldn’t help it—_

He couldn’t help it.

_—they’d looked as if they could fly, the effortless way they perched on the fence, waiting for the train._

Everything back then had felt more deeply profound and beautiful.

 _The day had been spent together—_ only _together—wandering New York, on the hunt for a building they could turn into their official company headquarters._ Arcane Designs _, they’d call it. The mash between Skrael’s gothic inclinations, Bellroc’s attention to ornate detail, and Nari’s free-form, flowing silhouettes, had been deemed ethereal, arcane, in school, when it was all put together._

_So they’d run with it._

What a terrible sprint it had been.

Because no amount of—whatever Skrael had felt for them, could have saved that place, their relationship to each other.

It had been a nice dream, just like—

_I didn’t wanna wake up last night  
‘cause I quite liked the dream I had of holding your hand  
it’s funny how slowly time goes  
when my thoughts have been racing all this time._

Onto the pile, the picture fell. To the back of his mind, the dream was shoved.

He flipped the next photo over.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191602632@N07/50784001998/in/dateposted-public/)

_Skrael laughed, and it was drowned by the din of a moderately populated roller-skating circuit. “Oh god, I definitely like ice better.”_

_Bellroc snorted, gliding along with ease next to him. “It isn’t that different, is it?”_

_He shook his head, shoving away stray, freshly-platinum hairs from his face, “No, it’s not_ that _different, but it’s different enough! Wheels, even in-line, are—” he was cut off by his own alarmed yelp, as he’d tried to ride a skate edge, only to remember too late that wheels don’t_ have _edges—which, ironically, was going to be the exact thing he wanted to tell them, until he found himself rushing toward hardwood._

_He braced himself for impact, but—it never came._

_What did, was much worse, and yet, so much better._

_Bellroc’s hands, gripping his forearms—one of his hands on their arm in return—the other on their shoulder—the wide eyes that met—the pair that lowered in embarrassment—and the pair that was amused, but impossibly fond._

_He flushed, “Difficult.” He finished, voice quiet, staring at the floor._

_Bellroc was still for a moment, watching him—no doubt with judgement, he was sure—before they gave a quiet hum and pulled him upward, so that he was no longer leaning on them so heavily._

_This should have worked to right him, but it only rather seemed to backfire, as Skrael hadn’t expected movement. He hadn’t been ready. A second yelp, and both hands on their shoulders—_

_and both of their hands on his waist—_

_and eyes that met once more._

_Lips that were parted…_

_…neither person moving…._

_…Skrael played coward first._

_He forced an awkward laugh and disentangled himself from them, the tips of his ears going scarlet, “Thanks for catching me. Uh, twice. I can’t believe I’m struggling with it this badly.”_

_Bellroc looked down at him, a gentle smile on their face. “I think you’re doing great. Cut yourself some slack. It’s your first time.”_

_He nodded, worrying his bottom lip, “…Thanks.”_

_A half beat of silence passed, before Bellroc’s hand appeared in his downcast vision, which very quickly made him look back up, as they said, “Will it help if you have a support?”_

_Skrael was tempted to pull a face, declare ‘no way,’ and claim competency, but—well, how could refuse an offer like that? When they were outlined in a soft glow, eyes refracting kindness and neons; when their hand, palm up, was inches from his chest, making him_ want _to take it._

_Self-discipline was something Skrael was good at._

_But not all the time._

Skating with Bellroc’s hand in his had been one of his most favored memories from that time, no matter what it did to his heart.

_we’ve been making shades of purple out of red and blue  
sickeningly sweet like honey, don’t need money,  
all I need is you._

He didn’t admit to the smile on his face, and he refused to linger on the photograph in his hands. Because—he knew what was awaiting him, in this last polaroid. He’d begun to remember this set, the set he’d kept privately, all to himself, that not even Nari knew he had. This set of pictures that had resided in his wallet for as long as Arcane Designs had been alive.

Which was… not, in fact, that long, he realized.

 _Evidently_ , he noted bitterly, as it had taken him longer than it should have to recognize these.

But he had, by now.

He really had.

And perhaps it would be a blessing. Because maybe this last photograph—his old favorite in this set—in the last remnants of their senior year—wouldn’t destroy him like he thought it might—

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/191602632@N07/50784763016/in/dateposted-public/)

He was a fool.

_This had been one of the best ideas he’d had in a while, Skrael thought. The three of them had been working to the bone and past it, as finals were screaming toward them with a ferocity that promised only the worst._

_They’d reached well beyond stressed last week, and were only spiraling further, as time flooded forward._

_So, on a Friday night, while the three of them had been in the midst of finals woes, he’d thrown the idea into the middle space, and watched what it did._

_“Let’s go out tonight.”_

_Bellroc had stared at him as if he’d just suggested that they all drop out. Perhaps his idea seemed like that, with the sheer audacity it held—to waste time when their grades were on the line?_

_But—as Nari began to look increasingly eager, they had to admit—_

_Skrael beat them to the punch. “We are ahead on our projects. It’s not as if we’d be making a grievous time management sin.” He grinned wickedly._

Ah… _They’d never been able to resist that grin, and Skrael knew it._

It was definitely cheating _, they frowned. Yet, they also couldn’t really find it in them to be all that concerned about it._

_Skrael swore that getting ready for a night out was nearly more than half the fun, as the three of them giggled their way through outfit and makeup options._

_It had been a last minute decision, to grab his camera, but later, he would find that it paid off handsomely._

_Because, he also found that he was entirely wrong about getting ready, not two hours later._

_It was fun, yes; the kind of fun that blasting Pussycat Dolls and playing dress-up was, and how that might never lose its nostalgic charm._

_But it was absolutely nothing—it wasn’t even a_ candle _to the roaring flame that was seeing Bellroc glow, seeing them dance with one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on them, as the music—in true cinematic fashion—demanded that he trip headfirst over heels for them over and over again, once anew for every time the melody shifted, and for every time they flashed their smile his way._

_Snapping the picture had either been the greatest victory or worst downfall he’d ever felt._

Because he was a fool to think that this picture wouldn’t decimate his lungs as badly as it always had; as it had never failed to do.

_(Let me show you how a kiss should taste)_

The picture had been intended for the box.

When he woke up the next morning, however, it was sitting innocuously on his nightstand. He groaned and rolled over to turn his back to it in the morning glow, but this helped little. After he’d stared at it for most of the previous night, it was practically burned into the space behind his eyelids.

_I would love you if you let me._


End file.
